


Up

by cylite



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Baltimore Crabs (Blaseball Team), Gen, Implied Violence, Post-Ascension, implied PTSD, sorry brock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28266123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cylite/pseuds/cylite
Summary: Brock Forbes does not react well to Ascension and his team is here to make sure he doesn’t do anything drastic, but only sort-of succeeds. The rest of the team work out what just happened and what Ascension means for them.Not a Crabs fan? Don’t worry I’ve included some notes at the start of each chapter to get you up to speed on any relevant lore pieces.UPDATE 12/29: New title and tags to reflect the rest of the fic as I've expanded this story to include the rest of the team roster.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13





	1. Snap Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So some notes on the version of Crab Lore I’m going with: 
> 
> 1)Brock is on an interdimensional time share, so he tends to be many versions of himself at once. Parker is a 5th dimensional entity projecting into 3 dimensional space. To quote the wiki: “while Brock lies on every parallel universe at once, Parker intersects this universe from outside of the multiverse”
> 
> 2) Brock killed the Olde One, but the whole city was involved in the fight.
> 
> 3) Finn was originally a part of that fight but drowned in the bay and crawled out much later as a Fish Person. (it happens to the best of us) 
> 
> Also I’m fudging the timeline just a little so that Ascension happens right after the game, not right before the election.

Brock Forbes is often regarded as one of the most laid back players on the Baltimore Crabs. He’s been here since the start and has hosted a postseason brunch for the team after every set of finals, win or lose. 

_Brock our Rock_ is what they say. As reliable a pitcher as a roommate, and just all around a great guy. 

He's been holding it together remarkably well since _the game_. The first time the shelled one appeared, when they missed their chance to take a shot at another god, he wasn’t angry or upset. He knew it just wasn’t time yet. He could wait. 

When it comes time to face it, Brock walks slowly up to the pitcher's mound, and meets the eyes of their first batter. Strikes him out. Nice and steady. Rock steady. 

Next it’s Wyatt. 

_Ball 1-0_

_Strike Swinging 1-1_

_Foul Ball 1-2_

_And then -_

There’s a crack as Wyatt makes contact. It’s not a _good_ hit. But it’s good enough. It’s over. The rest of it is a bit of a haze. There’s yelling, cheering, names he doesn’t care to recognise. He’s not really there anymore. 

_Batting Practice_

A trial run. Working up to the real thing.

_He’s standing in front of Her, he’s making the decision he can’t take back. She looks at him and he can’t tell if she’s angry, or disappointed, or proud. He makes the decision. He’s aware of a thousand lifetimes, a thousand timelines, and they’re all him, they've all come to the same spot. She looks at him. Is it a test? Revenge? It’s the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life and she makes him choose it again. And again. And again. And again._

Brock hasn't said anything since the pitch. There’s so much going on it’s hard to notice, but a few of them do. Adalberto sees that far away look in his eyes and he knows that Brock is stuck in his own head, it happens sometimes. They’ve lived together for years at this point, and there are always bad days. Nights that he wakes up and he’s not _here_ anymore. They’ve got strategies for this sort of thing, but there aren’t many of them that work well in the middle of the biggest shitshow the leauge has ever seen. And before they know it they’re gone anyway. 

Ascension: to Climb or Go up. 

The first team in the league to manage it and they still don’t know what this all means. Not really. 

They’re standing somewhere new. The team is there - but not quite. There are three people Brock doesn’t recognize. He counts again. They’ve got three MIA.

Forrest realizes what’s about to happen a second before Kennedy does and it's always been the fastest player on the team. It scoops up the three Fridays into its arms and skitters back as Kennedy gets between them and Brock. 

Brock almost decks _him_ instead.

He explodes. They both do. They’re inches apart and yelling about things that sound like tactics and survival, like accounting for the missing and the dead, and about standing down. 

The team is split now. The ones who were there recognize it – they know that feeling – the Us and Them. If you weren’t part of their fight you were an enemy. There were no bystanders in Baltimore that night.

The ones who weren’t there don’t know what they’re seeing but they have a sense of it, and they’re all partially right. 

Tot sees the way Brock is shaking, just slightly. He can guess about the elevated heart rate. He knows the symptoms but has never seen them in this context, on this body. 

Silvaire has her hand on her gun. She sees danger. Like a string about to snap. And there’s only one way to respond to it for her. 

Luis isn’t pretending to breathe. They're focusing more on what’s happening than acting like a human. They think about a human in a way they haven’t in a long time – a wounded animal, running for cover. They know this is when they’re at their most dangerous. 

There’s shouting. Most of them have never heard Brock so much as raise his voice. No one has _ever_ heard Kennedy sound like this. Back when the fighting got bad it wasn’t him who was giving orders. It was–

Anyway. 

Tosser makes a move; he’s talking, slow and steady. But he moves his arm in the wrong way, and the noise and the motion matches up just wrong. 

All Brock sees is movement in the corner of his eye.

There’s an awful snapping noise and Tosser is on the ground with Brock on top of him. A split second later there’s a BANG as a bullet glances off the hard chitton of Brock’s arm. No one’s sure if that made things worse or better, but he’s off Tosser now – and Brock takes off. 

They’re back to quiet now. Kennedy is caught between a whole team of responsibilities. No one moves until Tosser takes a sharp intake of air, holding his arm. That breaks the spell. 

All at once: Pedro lifts the RV off his back, he’s got a first aid kit in there and it looks like they’ll need it. 

Finn moves to Silvaire who’s not moving, gun still trained in the direction where Brock ran off. Finn puts her hand on Silvaire’s forearm and gently lowers it back to the ground. 

Forrest lowers its charges back to the ground but keeps one arm around Evelton to keep him from wandering off. He doesn’t quite seem to realize how close to danger he was. 

Luis eyes Breadwinner warily and they see her fists are tight enough to leave little crescent shapes in her palm. They offer the best reassuring smile they have on file and she scowls at them. 

Bevan hasn’t blinked since this whole thing started. Like a deer in headlights. Tot pushes his head into their leg and they pick him up unthinkingly and start running their hands through his fur, slowly coming back down from the panic. 

Kennedy Loser is still trying to shake himself out of it when he realizes he doesn’t need to. He was never a fighter – he’s the medic. When Pedro hands him the first aid kit he kneels with Tosser and starts checking how many fingers he can still move.

So in the end it’s Parker Parra who goes after Brock. 

Finding Brock isn't actually that hard. Not for them. He has a sort of density to him since he keeps so many versions of himself so tightly wound up in that one body. 

They find him sitting on a bench near what looks like a blaseball stadium facing away from them. Still tense enough to make their teeth ache. “Hey Forbes. You in there?”

He grunts in response. 

“I’m gonna need something more than that buddy,” Parker says, mostly to themself this time. 

Parker gives him a wide berth as they move around the bench where he can see them. He’s not looking them in the eyes, but hey what else is new? 

“Forbes – Do you know where you are?” 

They see his face twitch – the start of his jaw starting to move before he clenches it down again. He grunts again. They try it with their hands this time. [Brock are you OK?]

He makes some hurried motions with his hands. It’s not ASL, it's more shorthand than that. Hand signs they would use in the middle of a fight, when the crashing and noise got too loud to talk over. 

[Injured – Status?]

[Well you broke the shit out of his arm. But Ken will patch him back up.]

He’s quiet then. Parker has nothing better to do so they count the seconds. Watching them all tick by one by one, in chronological order. That way they don’t lose track of when they are now. [MIA – Status?]

They could try telling him about how the new gaggle of Fridays players means their missing team is probably just fine and on the beaches of Hawai’i, but they don't think he can deal in _probably_ right now. 

[We don’t know where they are. No sign of Bullock, or McDaniels, or Dreamy.] 

He nods slowly. Parker watches him struggle to take a deep breath, so they start taking slow deliberate breaths too. They’ve never really gotten the hang of this – Tosser is the one who has all his little techniques. Parker thinks they might ask him to show them after this. 

They stay like that for a while, breathing in time and looking – not directly at each other, but somewhere near it. 

“Fuck,” he says. It’s quiet and a little shaky. But it’s a good start. Parker lets the word linger for a bit. “Yeah. That was pretty bad,” they agree flatly. “Fuck. I–” and he cuts himself off again. Parker sees him start to process too much too fast. They try to interrupt his thoughts. “So brunch is going to be _super_ awkward now huh.” He laughs at that. Parker laughs too. It was a good one. 

He laughs harder than he should, and he’s shaking again. Parker sits down beside him and hovers their hand near his. He grabs it a little too hard but that’s okay. It’s nothing intimate, just grounding. Parker stretches out the contact, pivots their hand just so, so they’re holding his hand in every permutation of himself. Angled just right so that what he thinks of as their “hand” is on what they think of as his “hand”. They sit there for a while. They talk about nothing, avoid the subjects he doesn’t want to talk about. When they finally stand up he looks tired. He’s been wired up for so long that he gets light headed when he tries to stand. “Do you want me to grab the RV? We can hide out a little longer if you want to.” He shakes his head. “No, I can do this. I’ve got to.” Picking up the pieces won’t be simple, but it’s not the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. And as they make their way back to their team he finds the choice is easy. 


	2. Falling Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lore notes: 
> 
> Silvaire is a cowgirl/mercenary/all around cool lady. Her pregame ritual is astrology. She also doesn’t know what horses are (this isn’t relevant to the story I just think it’s funny)
> 
> Pedro is a solid batter who carries around an RV on his back all the time, and is pen pals with Valentine Games. 

Silvaire looks up at the night sky from where she’s laying. The stars are different here and she has no idea how to read them.

It bugs her more than it should. 

She’s lying at the edge of the outfield trying to get some sleep. Some of the others packed into Pedro’s RV, which he set up on the _other_ end of the outfield, and a few scouted out the abandoned blaseball stadium for places to crash. 

Breadwinner took the rest of the Friday’s players–

 _Crabs players,_ she corrects internally. _We’re all on the same team now I guess?_

Breadwinner took the _newest Crabs players_ into the actual building to find somewhere indoors to spend the night. Ken took the rest of the Crabs to the _other_ side of the building to rest – giving them some space she supposes. Forrest scuttled off somewhere _presumably_ to sleep but she’s not sure it actually does that. Luis is in the same boat, but they’ve just been messing around with their phone all night from what she can tell. 

She and Tot decided that the open air would be a little more relaxing. 

Plus she’s always liked camping. 

She’s got all her spare gear in a duffel for a kind of make-shift pillow. It’s not very comfortable, but that wouldn’t normally be an issue. She’s fallen asleep leaning against a wall in the airport when it’s called for it. Especially with Tot curled up against her side like that. 

But tonight she’s just stuck looking up at the stars. They’re all wrong and it bugs her more than it should. 

Silently she gets up and grabs her bag, careful not to disturb the sleeping fox next to her, and she walks quietly up to the gate of the stadium. She doesn't make it far before she notices the soft noise of Tot’s paws in the grass behind her. She stops to let him catch up and he looks up at her with a glint in his eye. _What? You thought you were being subtle?_ he seems to say. She sighs and puts an arm down and he scurries up until she’s holding him to her chest. 

She wanders as far from the stadium as she can while still being relatively certain she can make it back and finds herself back where they first landed. She puts Tot down and hefts the bag off her shoulder. There’s a couple of empty cans and that she’d collected from the stadium just for this purpose. 

She lines them up on a fence and faces away from it.

She turns to Tot. “Sorry buddy, this is going to get a little loud.” He doesn’t leave, but he does take a few more steps back and push his head to the ground, covering his ears the best he can without opposable thumbs. 

She starts a slow walk away from the fence. 10 paces. With her hand on her holster the whole way down. 

A particularly bright observer may have noticed that she hadn’t taken the holster off since they got up here.

She stops. 

It’s dead silent. The night air is neither cool nor warm. Like so many things here it feels like you only notice it when you’re looking for it. She’s waiting for something to change, something she can use as a signal. 

Somewhere in the distance a twig snaps. 

She turns and fires – five cans, five shots. They echo in the emptiness, and Tot flicks his ears in irritation. 

There was no hesitation, no half-second delay before she could hit anything. 

Just five shots in five cans. 

“Hey.” 

She turns to the voice on instinct, gun in hand, and shoots. 

Except she doesn’t.

Pedro looks a little alarmed at the gun pointed at him but honestly it’s not the weirdest thing he’s walked in on during his time with the team.

“Okay I’m going to need you to be honest, Silvaire – did you just try and shoot me?” 

Silvaire has the self awareness to look a little guilty. 

“Okay, I guess that answers that.” He makes his way further into the clearing and nods to Tot, who yawns back at him before setting in again.

“So what are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”

“Couldn't sleep, I figured this would help.”

Pedro gives her a skeptical look. “You thought shooting things would help you sleep?” 

Silvaire doesn’t answer right away so he continues. “Look, it’s okay if you’re a little rattled about what happened with–” “That’s not it,” she insists. 

“Ok but I’m just saying if _I_ shot–”

“I _didn’t_ shoot him though,” she interrupts. 

There’s a pause. 

“Silvaire, I know you live a little on the edge but if people are getting shot without you doing anything we should probably at least let Ken know.” “No, it’s–” She makes a frustrated noise. “I mean I _did_ shoot him but not when I meant to, just like with you a second ago!” Her voice rises as she starts making meaningless gestures with her empty hand.

She didn’t notice Tot making his way over but he’s pawing at her shin now. She needs both hands to hold him so she holsters her pistol to scoop him into her arms. 

“Silvaire,” Pedro starts, “it’s okay to be a little rattled. We had a hell of a day.” 

“I’m not rattled,” she says, aware of how childish that sounds. She tries again. “It would be okay to be rattled, but I’m _not_ rattled.”

She thinks Pedro is smiling when he takes a seat on the grass below them and she realizes that without the RV he’s a lot smaller. This seems obvious in hindsight, just not something she’s ever thought about. She sets Tot down again so she can join him there. “It would be okay,” she adds cautiously, “if you were a little rattled.” 

Pedro laughs. It’s harsher than she expects. A little bitter. “No, it’s okay, I’m not – I’m not rattled.” He shifts a little. “I’m actually doing pretty okay right now. We knew something like this might happen. I have a couple letters I wrote out before the game, and they’ll get where they need to be.” He pauses for a second. 

“Can I tell you something, Silvaire?” “Yeah?”

“This isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.” He’s looking away from her now. “Hell, if I can get the mail system figured out here it’ll be just like back in Baltimore but with less seafood.”

He smiles. 

Silvaire processes that for a second. 

“Can I tell you something, Pedro?” “Yeah?” “I’m sorry that that’s how it feels for you.” 

Pedro looks over only to find Silvaire looking right at him. It’s not confrontational. It’s just a reminder. _I see you_. They stay there on the grass for a while even after she looks away. _I’m here if you need me._

As the night drags on they eventually give in and head back to the stadium. 

“Okay, weird question but can I carry your bag?” Silvaire is almost offended. “Pedro, I can carry my own damn–”

“No, it would be helpful, walking around with nothing on is so weird I don’t know how you guys do it.” “Oh.” She hands him her duffel and he swings it over his shoulder appreciatively. “Wait why didn’t you bring your RV with you?” “Silvaire, there’s people sleeping in there.” “Oh right.” She smiles conspiratorially. “Who ended up in there anyway?” “Just Adalberto and Brock.” “ _Seriously?”_

“Adalberto insisted! He glared off anyone else trying to set up in there.” He sees her confusion. “Silvaire, they’ve known each other for years, they won’t let something like this get in the way of that kind of friendship.” 

He considers for a moment. “We’ve all made it through all sorts of things. We’ll get through this too.” 

Silvare looks up for a second. _The stars are still fucked up,_ she decides. _But I still have a team. And I don’t need the stars to tell me what we’re gonna be doing tomorrow._

“Yeah.” She smiles. “I mean even _Tillman_ could sidestep that whole “death” thing, so I think the rest of us can handle this no problem!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They then proceeded to lose the next 49 games straight. Sorry Silvaire. 
> 
> But seriously I can’t believe our gunslinger has Flinch now, that’s just ripe for someone to write about.


	3. Not what I Expected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lore notes:
> 
> Honestly these ones are explained in chapter so you should be OK. Bevan is a Terrible pitcher who was once possessed, Finn is a fish girl who just has one large arm on her head. (Think of an angler fish with legs). 

“...and when I signed at him through the window asking if there was room for me in the trailer and Pedro tells me to “go find a puddle to sleep in”, and so I insinuate something about his mom and a hermit crab, and he shuts the blinds on me!” “I mean that’s probably reasonable–” “Not the point!”

Bevan and Finn are standing six metres apart, throwing a worn baseball between them. About an hour ago they found each other wandering around the outfield. Finn was keyed up from all the excitement, so she asked Bevan if they wanted to throw the ball around a bit and “get all warmed up for whatever training the team cooks up for them.” Bevan was quick to agree – it was way better than just wandering around in a field until the adrenaline wore off. 

“I’ve got to say you guys really aren’t what I expected,” Bevan says, throwing the ball to Finn. She notices that their throws are… not the best. _Brock’s going to have a field day coming up with what to do with them._

“Oh yeah?” she ventures, throwing it back. 

“Like–” Bevan catches the ball and uses it to assist with their gesturing. “Forrest is this big, crab thing. And yet they’re- _it’s_?” Bevan pauses to check, taking the opportunity to throw the ball back. 

“ _It’s,_ ” Finn confirms, catching it with a soft thud. “Forrest isn’t big on the whole gender thing – plus it’s got this whole thing where it wants to like, expand the definition of personhood altogether. You should ask it about it sometime, it loves to talk about it.” She throws the ball back to them. 

“I’ll need to brush up on my signs first, I think.” They fumble a little, but they do catch the throw and make a clumsy return.

“Oh yeah that’s just how it likes to talk.” Finn’s hand catches the ball mindlessly. “I think someone mentioned it _can_ make, y’know, mouth sounds when it wants to, but it doesn’t want to so it doesn’t have to.” She shrugs. “And don’t worry about it; Forrest is good about slowing down for newbies – it was also super good at helping me figure out how to adjust some words to work one-handed while I was learning.” She gestures with her single angler-fish like arm protruding from her head before tossing the ball back to Bevan. 

“See, it’s things like that! You guys are supposed to be the big scary Crabs! But you’re just – a bunch of weirdos! Playing blaseball like the rest of us!” They toss it back to Finn. 

Finn grins with a mouthful of sharp teeth. “We are real fucking good at it though.” She catches the ball and whips it back to Bevan in one fluid motion. It flies right by them and bounces into the darkness of the stadium. 

_Whoops_. 

She hopes it hit the RV. Or Pedro. 

Bevan doesn’t even turn to look for it. They just slump their shoulders a bit. 

“Yeah. I know.” They’re still smiling a little, but now it’s _definitely_ for show. 

Finn frowns. _Whoops_. She hopes they’re not about to talk about their feelings. “I mean you’re the _Baltimore Crabs!_ Finn! You pitched a _perfect game_ once!While I threw the most walks in the league last season!” They sound like they’re trying to be happy for her, but they aren’t doing a great job. “Yeah, but you’d be an okay batter?” she tries. “Not the point!” 

Bevan pauses and seems to realize they were shouting. Their ears flick down in embarrassment. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to go off like that,” they get out quickly. “Nah it’s cool, don’t worry about it.” She moves her hand dismissively. Finn’s pretty sure they needed that. 

She starts to wander in the general direction that the ball went. A classic walk-and-talk seems like the best way to handle this. “Did you ever hear how I joined the team back in the day?” “I mean, that was back in season 4? Ish? You better not be about to tell me you were some second-rate pitcher who just worked her way to the top.” “Oh no, I’ve been the greatest the whole time and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” “Ha.” And it is a somewhat genuine laugh. “But I did replace someone important. Do you know who used to be the team captain?” 

They shake their head. “It was Combes Duende. She was something else. Even before this whole –” Finn gestures at the stadium “– ILB thing. When I showed up the Crabs were the worst in the league and they just lost their _capitan_.” She stops and thinks for a minute, a novel concept. “It was like now, in a way? But not really because we’re good now and like we’re not even in _Baltimore_ anymore and–” “Okay Finn, I think you’re losing track of your motivational speech,” Bevan teases.

“What? No, I would never,” she jokes. “The thing is, Ken could see how messed up everyone was, and that they needed someone to step in. So even though he didn’t want to be the new captain, and didn’t think he could, he still got up there and did his best.” 

“So you’re saying that even if I’m bad at it, I should try?” Beven checks. 

“Yeah.” “Finn that’s literally what I’m doing right now.” “Oh. Shit. Okay, I’m not good at this.” She panics a little. “I mean like it’s not like you’re _not_ trying now, but what if you...” She slows down a little. “Try… _more_?” Bevan is giving her a look, but they are smiling a little which is a good start she supposes. Probably not ideal that they're laughing _at_ her, but it’s better than nothing. 

“I’m not laughing at you,” they say, correcting her internal monologue. “It’s just – you’re doing it again, being completely not what I expected. It’s not a bad thing! But I think I’m starting to get that maybe you guys also don’t know what’s going on.” “I bet Parra knows what’s going on – they know all sorts of weird stuff. Just not how like, door knobs work sometimes,” Finn says to herself more than anything. 

“We’re going to wake up tomorrow and we don’t know what’s going to happen, or who we’re playing, or what the rules are, but I guess that’s kind of like every season honestly!” Finn’s foot hits their lost ball, and she kicks it towards Bevan who picks it up triumphantly. 

“It’s like they say,” they start, and Bevan does what they clearly think is a great Blaseball Commissioner impression, “the pitcher must throw the ball.” 

“That’s the spirit!” Finn echos. “Yeah!” “YEAH!” “YEAH!” And Bevan throws the ball incredibly wide and it disappears into the darkness of the infield.

There’s a startled cry and the sound of something breaking in the distance. 

They look at each other. 

“Well the good news is you're a terrible pitcher so that probably didn’t concuss anyone, but it did make them mad,” Finn says, much quieter. “Should we go see if they’re okay?” Beven whispers back. “Nope! If it was a Crab then they’ll be fine, if it was a Friday then Breadwinner will probably kill me on principle. She seems scary. We’re going to go get an alibi!” Finn runs off with Bevan sprinting after her, and much to her surprise, keeping up with no problem. 

_Huh,_ she thinks. _Maybe we’ll make a Crab of you after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Finn doesn’t mention here is that _she_ started as a batter but was terrible. Look it up! Finn James Wins games, but not if she has to hit the ball.


	4. If a Tree Falls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes on lore:
> 
> Someone had the idea of Tot Fox being an immortal trickster and that has lived in my head ever since. It’s not _directly_ referenced here, but he gives off that vibe to me. 
> 
> Forrest Best is a mannequin with 6 giant crab legs it uses to move around. It was notably very close with Nagomi McDaniel, and Finn talked about Forrest a bit back in chapter 3. 

Tot is making his way back to the stadium when he bumps into Forrest. 

In his defense it was standing completely still and he thought it was just a very large crab in the road. 

Tot looks up at the looming form of what is probably now the Crabs’ star batter and yips. It obediently bends down to pick him up, and holds him against its wooden frame. The angle is awkward, but he positions himself so he can still see Forrest’s hands as they move. 

The two of them wander for a while. Tot’s not sure where it’s headed as it’s certainly not going to the stadium, but Forrest seems to be content to just wander.

Tot wonders where Forrest has gotten to today. It must have relinquished its hold on Evelton at some point, then broken away from the group as they were looking for somewhere to sleep. _Which is silly,_ he thinks, _how could creatures who once slept in trees evolve to forget how to do that?_

There are no woods here though, just something that if you think about it for long enough might start looking like a city. There are no people here. Just empty buildings filled with exactly what you might expect to be there. 

It’s all very… _strange_. Not really what he was expecting from Ascension. 

[How are the others?] Forrest asks. 

_Better now. They’re all trying to help each other. I’m more worried about the new ones._ Forrest doesn’t have names for all of the new players yet, so it’s forced to spell them out. [B-E-V-A-N is playing fetch with Finn,] it supplies. 

This helps. Bevan was someone he was worried about. He can remember, just barely, what they were like back before the possession when they played together back in Breckenridge. He tried to help back then but he ended up traded to the Crabs and they fell out of contact. 

An uncomfortable sort of guilt sets into his stomach thinking about that. 

Tot startles as Forrest taps on his side gently. [And how are you?] it signs carefully, and slower than Tot would expect. He realizes this must not be the first time it has asked this. Sometimes it’s easy to miss the motion of its hands in the shuffle of its legs.

Tot yawns and tucks in closer to Forrest’s torso. 

_Tired. This has been a busy day. I’m not used to having so many things to worry about. That’s Ken’s job._

[He is probably also tired. No one is sleeping tonight.]

 _That’s not too surprising, they all think too much for their own good. Not like you and me._ Tot grins with all his teeth. He’s not sure Forrest can see it, but it’s mostly for himself. 

Forrest is quiet for a while. This is unsurprising since it hasn’t spoken for as long as Tot can remember, but it’s the way people describe it when one conversation partner doesn’t pick up the next line right away. 

Tot takes up the lead again.

_We are of course both too smart to be bottling up our feelings, right? I mean look at us! It’s only those pesky human-ish players that would need to have big, drawn out conversations to get to the point. You and I are better than that, my friend._

Forrest stops walking. They’re in the middle of some kind of ever expanding suburb that Tot hadn’t noticed before. It’s empty like the rest of wherever they are now, with identical buildings in identical rows keeping everything in order, but if there's one person he trusts to find its way home it’s Forrest. 

Forrest turns towards one of the houses, scuttles up the side and perches on the rooftop. There is something comforting about being high up. _Back to those monkey instincts,_ Tot thinks. 

There’s no moonlight to light the way, just inconsequential stars dotting the sky. 

Tot hops onto a convenient chimney and politely waits until Forrest is ready to start talking again. 

Forrest seems content to let Tot start off first. 

The air is still and gives no hint to the battle of wills playing out on some anonymous rooftop. It seems that wherever they are abides by the same lack of respect for dramatic timing that the IBL does. Tot chirps unhappily. 

And dammit, that means that he just lost. 

_I’ve never destroyed a celestial body before,_ he starts.

[Oh no?] signs Forrest. The blank face of its mannequin form can’t smile, but Tot knows; he can see it in the way it moves its hands. 

_When I started this game I didn’t think anything would be this permanent. And now suddenly the sky has fundamentally shifted, and I’m not sure that I meant to do that._

[The deaths on the field and the opening of the Hellmouth were also permanent,] Forrest points out.

Tot would have shrugged if that was something a fox could do. _Eh, people die all the time and Hellmouth was due soon anyway. And don’t even get me started on that Los Angeles mess._

[What about those returning from the Hall?]

_Death is a revolving door my friend, I’m disappointed you’re even counting that as notable._

[And the Shitty Legume?]

Tot snarls at that. _It overstepped and was cut down. This is the way of these things._ He brightens, like someone in on a joke. _Something about hubris? I’m sure it will never come up again._

Forrest looms in the night. Its legs click against the tiled roof. 

[I miss Nagomi. And Sutton and Montogmery.] 

It’s very direct with this and Tot won’t insult its intelligence with platitudes. 

No calls of, “I’m sure we’ll see them again” or “They’re probably in Hawai’i having a nice rest with Our Lady.”

He knows Forrest and Nagomi were close and that if she were here it would be the two of them on this roof, talking about the season, the game, or how they hit that winning run. She would be mad and not know how to say it, but Forrest would know her well enough to help her out. 

_They would probably break the chimney,_ he thinks. They like breaking things. 

Tot opts to avoid any ambiguity.

_I’m sorry, friend._

It’s a few long minutes until Forrest signs back. 

[I am sorry as well.]


	5. No Signal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lore Notes: \- Luis is a 400 year old vampire turned hard-light construct who is dating the _also_ immortal Tot Clark of the Garages. 
> 
> -Baldwin Breadwinner is a mother of 3, and also once made a deal with a demon to erase her old identity. She is very cool and I love her. 

It’s nearly 3AM and Luis still can’t get a signal on their phone. They know this but for some reason they keep trying to get one anyway. 

It’s more of a ritual at this point. Walking to a new spot on the roof of the stadium, dialing the number, and getting a fast busy signal. _That’s not how that’s supposed to work,_ they think. But hey, since when did any of this stuff make sense anyway? 

They tried getting as low to the ground as possible first, on the assumption that _ascension_ meant something about being high up, but that didn’t seem to make a difference. Eventually they figure they should try it the other way, and hey wouldn’t you know it? The chain closing off the roof access for the empty stadium is just the right size to fit into a pair of bolt cutters conveniently generated from the same hard light stuff that makes up the rest of everybody’s favourite member of the Baltimore Crabs. 

So they get up on the roof and start waving their phone around with their hard light generator tucked under their arm. 

Still no luck though. 

They’re on their way back down when they run into a familiar face – Baldwin Breadwinner. She seems to have calmed down a little from when Luis saw her last, but oh look! Now she’s starting to look mad again! 

She frowns at them. “Have you seen Evelton and Bevan around anywhere?” 

Luis makes a point of looking around the imaginary rooftop. They even make a little hard light spyglass for effect. Baldwin doesn’t seem to appreciate it. “Nope, no Fridays here” 

She rolls her eyes at them. “Well let me know if you see them. They wandered off and I heard Evelton yelling earlier. I want to make sure your pitcher hasn’t clocked one of them.” 

Ouch, low blow. Ah well, all's fair in love and blaseball. Or something like that. 

They smile, showing off small pointed fangs. “You know they’re not your _kids_ right?" Her eyes narrow. “Yeah. No shit. My kids are in Hawai’i.” “And you’re sure you’re not –” they lift their hard light projector up to show it off “– PROJECT-ing anything onto the rest of your little gang there?” Their smile widens. And she’s definitely mad now. 

“Right. Of course. You’re going right for the kids? Not even a creative one. I’ve dealt with things like you before, Acevedo.” Baldwin’s voice is tight, but even, like she’s back on more familiar ground.

“Really?” Luis is _genuinely_ surprised. 

“I’ve talked a deal out of Beelzeblase, I can deal with one mouthy ex-vampire.” 

Okay, now Luis is _genuinely_ offended. 

“Hey I’m still a vampire! No “ex” about it! You should have seen me in the last bloodrain! Top form on my part.” They scale their projection up and add a rain effect and some lighting for emphasis. 

She scoffs at them, clearly unimpressed at the theatrics. Luis holds the pose for a minute anyway before breaking out into a laugh. “You’re so weird. This is going to be fun.” The laughter falters a bit as they add, softer now, “Tot would love this.” Baldwin seems a little taken aback at the quick change of tone. 

“Do you know why I keep trying to call him?” 

She looks back at them, surprised at the question. They continue. 

“It’s not like we haven’t been separated before or anything. I mean, we’ve been alive for hundreds of years. Even when we got traded there would sometimes be days where we wouldn't talk, so why am I still trying to call him when I know it won’t go through?”

It’s quiet now. She’s giving them an odd look as she realizes this isn’t rhetorical. 

“Because you miss him, dumbass,” she says, easily. “You share your life with him and now your life has changed and he’s not here so you’re trying to reach out. There’s nothing weird about that.” She pauses and sighs. 

“It’s very human.” “Eww.” Luis pulls a face and sticks their tongue out for good measure. “Oh, get over yourself.” 

Luis laughs again and Baldwin smiles just a little. Then stops when she realizes she’s doing it. “Well if you haven’t seen the other two I’ll leave you to–” she starts. 

“Wait! No, sorry, I should apologize,” Luis jumps in. “The team's not at our best today, and I realize we haven’t made a great first impression.” They raise their hands. “It’s not an excuse – but I know Brock’s not dealing with the whole ‘God killing redux’ thing very well, and I know the rest of us are a little shaken up by it too.” It’s a peace offering, and she knows it, but she’s always been good at making deals. 

She makes a counter offer. “And I’m sorry if I’ve been a little rough today as well. I know that Evelton and Bevan can take care of themselves, it’s just hard not to try and keep them safe in all this craziness.” 

Luis smiles at her, and while she doesn't smile back, she doesn’t frown _quite_ so much. 

“Your kids are probably fine,” they add. When she doesn’t answer right away Luis barrels ahead. “You deal with demons right? I bet you have some killer contract law skills. A nice accurate and up-to-date will? Contingencies for _missing presumed dead_ and legal guardianship all nicely wrapped up? All the “T”s crossed and all the “I”s with little skull-shaped dots. No one would be more ready than you are for whatever is about to happen.” She smiles – genuinely this time. “Thanks Acevedo, I appreciate you trying.” Then she cocks her head at them. “Why does a vampire hologram know so much about contract law?”

“Oh, that’s a long story; we don’t need to get into it. Now let's get off this roof – I seriously don’t think anyone else is up here.” They don’t quite swing an arm around her shoulder, but Luis does walk up to her expectantly and the two of them head back to the access door. 

“Hearts,” she says unprompted as they start down the stairs. 

“What?”

“I dot all my “I”s with little hearts. Unless it’s for a hell fiend in which case I sneak a little warding rune in there in case they want to try and get clever.” 

“Oh I _can’t wait_ to introduce you to Tot.” 

“Yeah, _none_ of you are getting anywhere near my kids.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I may have written Luis like a vampiric Looney Toon, but hey sometimes that’s what speaks to you.


	6. Keeping up Appearances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lore notes:  
> Kennedy Loser: Team captain who tries very hard to be the emotional linchpin of the team. He’s very good at it, but very bad at looking after himself.
> 
> Evelton McBlase II: The evil clone of the original Evelton McBlase on the Fridays, who was a sentient base. He’s terrible at baseball and mainly focuses on being terrible at supervillainy.

Kennedy finds himself, as he does much too often, feeling very glad he kept the first aid kit handy. 

He finds Evelton sitting in the stands facing away from him and muttering to himself. What’s interesting is that the flat white base which he _thought_ was his face is sitting on the seat next to him. He doesn’t want to pry so he makes a point of stumbling on the steps a few rows over, making a nice satisfying clatter. 

“WHAT? WHO GOES THERE?” Evelton cries out. Ken _assumes_ Evelton bolts straight upright, but he’s not sure he’s had time to deal with his mask, so he keeps his head down and lets the latch on the kit slide open, spilling the contents out of the floor. “Oh shoot sorry you startled me! Let me just grab this and I’ll be with you in a second Evelton.” 

He can hear the scrambling on the seats above him. “YES! JUST STAY DOWN THERE WHERE YOU ARE OCCUPIED AT THE MOMENT!” 

“Evelton, it’s okay. I’m not that far away, you don't need to yell.” He returns the last of his supplies to the kit and stands up to see Evelton perched a few rows up with his mask (face?) back in place.

“Oh.” Evelton deflates a little. “Okay. But you should make sure that you’re still cowering in fear at my terrifying presence even if I stop using my intimidating vocal range to subdue you.” “Yup, no worries, I am suitably intimidated.” 

Evelton seems satisfied at that. He makes his way down the stands until he’s closer to the same level as Kennedy. 

Kennedy takes the opportunity to look at one of their newest players. Unfortunately he hasn’t had a chance to really get to know any of them yet. He wanted to give them some space and make sure they didn’t feel too crowded. Evelton looks mostly the same as he did earlier today, but his base is clearly missing a piece on the top right corner. 

This explains some of those noises from earlier.

“Evelton, how have you been doing? Anything going on that I should be aware of?” Normally Kennedy wouldn’t even need to ask. Now that Tillman is… not on the team anymore there aren’t many fights he needs to worry about. But it’s been a hard day, and he needs to make sure no one is taking it out on the newbies. 

“I have been very accomplished since we last met!” Evelton seems cheerful about this. Kennedy has only known him for a day but he knows enough to be alarmed. Evelton continues, nonplussed. “I have eluded my tail, and have begun construction on my secret base in the depths of this cacophonous stadium!” “...Evelton, we’ve been here for about 14 hours and you’ve set up a secret base?” Kennedy isn’t sure what to make of this. “Fine! Don’t believe me – it will be your undoing!” Evelton’s pitch raises as he gets defensive again. 

“Oh no, sorry, I do believe you – that’s very impressive. I would love to see if you are willing to show it to me.” “Oh. Yes. Okay.” Evelton seems to have been knocked off script by the offer, but picks up steam again shortly. “But you will need to be sworn into secrecy! You must never reveal the location of this lair to anyone for any reason! Under pain of death!” Kennedy considers this for a moment. “Can I reveal it if I need to use it to help the team? If you’ve got supplies in there we might need them.” “Yes! But only with my direct permission! I will hold the lives of these players in my hands, and I will be the only thing standing between them and oblivion!” Evelton is standing up on one of the seats now to gain some extra height. Kennedy assumes this is for intimidation purposes as Evelton is actually pretty short. Probably not great for his supervillainy. Kennedy makes a point of stopping to think, somewhat overdoing his thinking face. “What if you’re not around, then can I still use the base? What if you’re the one who’s injured?” “Hmm…” Now it’s Evelton’s turn to consider. He continues, but slower this time. “Okay, you can reveal its location only under my direct permission, or if it’s really important – is that agreeable?” “Works for me.” “THEN COME ALONG HENCHMAN! WE SHALL HEED THE CALL OF THE NIGHT!” 

“Okay, but we should do it a little quieter, there are people trying to sleep.” 

“Okay, I will try to be a little quieter.” 

______

Kennedy honestly was not expecting this. There’s no way that any of those readouts are _real,_ right? Some of them have got to just be flashing LEDs for dramatic effect. 

Evelton has maneuvered into what looks like a chair from the stadium but with some hastily added wheels so it can roll around. There’s no expression on his blank mask, but he seems very pleased with himself. “Behold! My secret base! You are the first to see it and live to tell the tale. I hope you are in awe of its magnificence!” 

“This is really impressive Evelton, you’ve done a great job with this. I’m sure the rest of the team would love it if you showed it to them too.” And Kennedy isn’t kidding. Pedro would love this. 

“Really? I mean of course! They would be astounded at my brilliance! How could they not be?” “Perfect. We can give them a tour some time tomorrow. In the meantime we should make sure everything is in top condition for the grand reveal. Would you mind if I took a quick look at your faceplate there? It looks like there might be a crack we’ll want to patch up.” Evelton looks nervous. “What are you talking about? I am in prime condition. Never been better.” “Evelton, it’s okay, I’m a medic. This is what I do. Do you have a good place for me to work on repairs so I don't disturb you while you’re putting in the finishing touches on these consoles?” “Oh yes! I can supply you with my… faceplate and you can use the repair station to complete the necessary work. The station is all the way over–” Evelton stops to think before pointing at the farthest end of this enclosure. “–there! In the meantime I will be here, and you will not not come here unless you knock very loudly because I will be working on my _deadly lasers_ and it would be very dangerous for you if you came in unannounced.” “Sounds good! I will stay over here for my own safety. Thank you for your consideration, Evelton.”

“You– I– Yes. I am being very considerate.” Evelton seems flustered and now Kennedy is sure it’s a mask of some kind because Evelton would certainly be blushing otherwise. 

It’s a good project to work on. The mask (faceplate? face?) isn’t made of a material he can identify, but his first-aid kit is a little better stocked than most. He’s needed something to do.

He wants to give everyone space.

He _trusts_ his team to look after themselves. To look after each other. 

He knows that Luis is probably stressing out, and that Forrest is more upset than it lets on. Silvaire has looked off since this afternoon. The last time he saw Bevan they almost jumped out of their skin. Even Brock won’t want to talk to him. 

He takes a deep breath.

The filler he has in his kit isn’t perfect since he has to try and colour-match to off-white rather than the usual reddish or orangeish tones of chitton. It looks alright though. He actually uses the filler’s colour to extend the darker line a little over the eye. He grins – it’s much more intimidating this way. He’ll offer it to Evelton with the caveat that he can make it all white if he wants, but he’s fairly sure that he’ll think the “scar” looks cool. 

_That’s one down, eleven to go,_ he thinks. A keen observer might notice the miscount, but Kennedy doesn’t. He’s always found it easier to focus on other people’s problems. Luckily that’s what the rest of them are for. “Henchman!” Evelton calls from the other end of the base. “If you are done with that I actually have another super secret project I would like assistance with! Do you have a bone saw in your utility kit?” _Henchman? I’ve been demoted,_ he thinks. But somehow they end up whittling the night away on secret projects and plans. There’s a voice that tells him this is an irresponsible way to spend the night, but he can tell it’s helping Evelton at least. 

Besides; Evelton lets him name the ray gun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kennedy Loser deserves a ray gun that's all I'm saying.


	7. Like Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lore Notes:
> 
> Adalberto Tosser is both Brock’s roommate, and an old friend. Due to a glitch in the pitching rotation, he also pitched twice as much as he was supposed to in season 9, and ultimately lost us the game in the very last inning of the finals. Poor guy needs a nap. 

At one point Pedro says he’s leaving the RV to get some air and it’s not subtle but Adalberto still appreciates it. 

After season 9 Adalberto and Brock had a fight. It was one of the first times they ever really got into it after living together for so long. He was mad about costing them the game. Mad about how Brock kept trying to help. He knew objectively that Brock just wasn’t sure what to say and didn’t realize that every platitude just drove the knife in deeper. So when Adalberto finally snapped back at him it got heated. 

They haven't really _talked_ about it since. It’s been a busy season.

There’s not a lot of room to maneuver in the RV. Brock is sitting on the bed in the back, staring blankly at the wall. He wants to help but he isn’t sure if he can. It’s usually so easy, he would just sit beside Brock and talk. They would name things in the room, bring him back into himself slowly. Let him ramble about whatever he wanted for a while. It’s so routine for them it _shouldn’t_ be a big deal. 

And yet–

When he turns to him he has to swallow back the instinct to apologize. 

Brock would hate that. 

_He_ had hated that last season. Adalberto knows that it would only make things worse. He knows that if he starts off with an apology it will just make them both feel like they need to dance around each other looking out for frayed nerves and trying not to step on any of the landmines they both know are there. 

No; he needs to start with something else. 

He takes a deep breath and sits beside Brock. Neither of them acknowledges the other for a long few minutes. 

When he finally speaks he is interrupted almost immediately. “So I–” “I think–”

They look up at each other and Brock has just a hint of a smile. 

Brock’s voice is rough when he starts up again. “Now you have to start. We’ll keep things organized – nice and alphabetical.” The corners of his mouth are just barely turned up in a smile. It was an old line that he used whenever he wanted to get Adalbetro to go first. 

Adalberto can’t help but take that as a good sign. 

“So I think that could have gone worse, actually,” he says, mindful of the sling that holds his injured arm. “It does sometimes,” Brock confirms. “I checked through some of the other possibilities and it ranges from me getting to them a little faster to Luis starting the fight. At least once Ken and Forrest are both gone and Nagomi doesn’t take it well.” Adalberto realizes that this explains the long stretches of silence. Brock was checking with other timelines. He does that sometimes when things go wrong and Adalberto wishes he didn’t. It's one thing to _think_ of all the “what ifs”, and another to _see_ how else it might have played out. 

Instead of voicing that he gets up and walks over to the tiny bathroom, where he knows the medicine cabinet is fully stocked. He doesn't need to raise his voice much for Brock to hear him. It’s not a very big RV. “Are there any where you were missing?” “Yeah. It’s always Hawai’i, and don’t worry – everyone’s safe, but probably confused. It was just a blessing that fired off, no matter what Evelton says to the contrary.” “Good – that’s good.” Adalberto finds a bottle and takes it with him before heading up to the sink for a glass of water. Brock watches him move around the RV. That’s also good – it means that he’s _here_ and watching. Not looking at some other version of events. 

“There aren’t many where I actually hurt you though. I’m sorry I let it get that bad.” Adalberto is holding the glass of water in one hand with the bottle of pills balanced awkwardly on the sling. Brock is looking at him, unblinking, waiting for a response. Instead he hands him the bottle and the glass and Brock has to look down to open it up and take a couple painkillers. He downs the glass easily. 

It’s routine – scanning timelines has always given Brock a bad headache, and it’s always better to get ahead of the pain for these sorts of things. 

Adalberto thinks about what to do next. He starts by sitting back down, and he thinks of all the things _not_ to say. _It's okay, it’s not a big deal._

_It wasn’t your fault._

_I forgive you._

None of those are what he needs to hear. They’re all _true_. But they won’t help and Adalberto knows it. Instead he nods to Brock and puts his good arm around his shoulder in an awkward half-hug. “Hey, at least it was a clean break, Ken’s probably too out of practice to do anything complicated. He’s gotten way to comfy just calling EMS when someone gets into trouble.” 

Brock doesn’t laugh, so Adalberto does it for him. 

“It’s going to get worse.” That shuts him up. Adalberto moves his arm off Brock’s shoulder like it burned him. 

“...What?” “This is going to get worse for a while. I can’t let my guard down until I know what’s going on, and I think once the season gets started I’m going to need to stay on top of... everything.” Brock says it like it’s inevitable. He’s looking away again and dammit Brock better not be trying to timeshare during this conversation. 

“Brock, you’re not responsible for _everything_ – you _can’t_ be and you know that. We’re a _team._ There’s thirteen of us for a reason,” he explains patiently, anxiety rising in his voice. 

Brock sighs. “I know that. It doesn’t change the fact that I need to do better and that might mean leaving some of this–” he gestures unhelpfully “–behind.” “Leaving _what_ behind? Smoking up? Brunch? The team?” he says. 

_“Me?”_ he doesn’t say. 

“I was better before I got so comfortable,” Brock admits quietly. 

“You were _a wreck_ before you started _letting other people help you._ Seriously, I can’t believe we’re having this conversation right now.” Adalberto is getting louder now. “We shouldn’t be – it’s not your decision, it’s mine.” Brock raises his voice to match. “Fuck that.” Adalberto stands up. 

“What? You can’t just–” “Fuck that. You’re my best friend and I’m not letting you do that to yourself. We’re all stressed, we’ve all got a lot of shit to deal with, and you can’t just cocoon yourself in misery and pretend it’s for everyone else’s good. If you really want to help then admit that you’re going to be having a rough time of it, and ask me for help.” “I’m not going to–” “Then ask someone else!” he shouts. “If you can’t talk to me, that’s okay! I don’t care! Forrest can take that shit directly from your head! Luis is like 400 years old – they’ve got to have some useful things rattling around in there. Tot is _literally a licenced therapy animal_! Take your pick!”

He pauses and Brock waits to let him get the last word. When Adalberto catches his breath again it’s quieter. “Just don’t try and do this alone. Please. If you won’t do it for you, do it for the rest of us.” He takes another breath before quickly adding,“You know how Ken is, he’ll worry himself sick if he thinks you’re slipping back.” 

It’s more emotional than he’s been in a while. Adalberto admits that maybe he’s a little stressed as well. 

“I’m sorry,” says Brock. “I don’t think it’s going to be that simple.” “But you’ll try?” “...yeah. I’ll try.” “Good, because if Bevan’s pitching a quarter of our games we need to make sure that we keep the team together through all that losing and I want you there to help with that.” 

Brock groans theatrically. “Did you know they led the league in walks last season? They pitch way below their stars and they’re only a two-star player. Their ruthlessness is abysmal.” “Brock, I have no idea what that means but I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t figure out.” 

“Easy for you to say,” he huffs. This is admittedly a lot better than how their last fight ended. 

“And Bertie?” he adds quietly. “Yeah?” “I’m sorry about the arm,” Brock says, and he’s not really talking about the arm. “No worries. I forgive you.” And Adalberto isn’t either. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brock knows what FK is. He's in the SLIBR discord.


	8. Brunch

For the last 10 seasons Brock Forbes has hosted a postseason brunch for the Baltimore Crabs. This includes the season they lost Nora. The season they won their first championship. The season they had to roll Nagomi’s shell in through the patio doors. The season they gave up and just moved it outdoors because Axel couldn't fit in the house. The season they missed ascension by a single inning. 

He’s always hosted brunch. 

The morning after they end up wherever they are now, the team is scuttling about raiding various parts of the stadium to put together some tables and chairs. Pedro’s RV is occupied by Brock and Adalberto as they work on putting together all the food they need to feed 13 people.

As the team slowly makes their way to the make-shift homebase at the stadium they greet each other with varying levels of enthusiasm. It doesn’t look like anyone got much sleep last night. 

When Brock brings out a plate of eggs he pretends not to notice Bevan flinching. Parker drops something on the ground unexpectedly and Silvare misses catching it. Finn cracks a joke but it falls flat. Forrest hovers at the table and someone has to translate from sign for it when they want something from Evelton. Luis won’t stop checking their phone. And everyone can see the way Adalberto is stealing glances at Brock. 

There are some attempts at small talk, but they fade quickly. They focus on eating until they’re just 13 players sitting around a table, not sure what to do next.

It’s Baldwin who breaks the silence. 

“I don’t know about you guys, but I can’t reach my kids and I’m scared that they don't know what's happened to me.’ 

It’s unexpected and it lingers until Tot yips loudly and Forrest translates (slowly, for the new ones).

[The game has changed now and I don’t know what’s next.]

“I’m a terrible pitcher and I’m afraid I’m going to let everyone down,” Bevan blurts out in one breath. 

“I’m an amazing pitcher and I’m afraid I’m going to let everyone down,” echos Finn. 

“I was getting good at all the rules and now they’ve all changed and I’m mad about it,” Parker adds.

“I’ve lost my edge and it’s killing me,” Silvaire says, calmer than anyone expected. “I haven’t been able to reach Tot since we got here and I’m afraid that he doesn’t know where I am either.” 

“I feel like I screwed up the only thing I was here to do,” says Brock. “My best friend is hurting and I don’t know how to help him,” says Adalberto.

[I miss them,] signs Forrest. 

“I don’t feel as bad about this as I should and somehow that’s worse,” says Pedro. 

“I actually have no idea how we made it up here and I don’t know what to do now,” Evelton admits, lacking any of his usual enthusiasm. They look at Kennedy expectantly. 

They all do, and caught between a team full of responsibilities Kennedy Loser has to make a move. 

“I–” he starts, a little unsure of himself. “I don’t know what to do.” There’s a pause as they all give him some space. “I lead us all up here and now I don’t know what to do next. I don’t know how to solve any of these problems and I’m sorry. I don’t have any answers to this, and I don’t think we can find any anytime soon.”

There's a pause as Kennedy switches gears.

“We’re all scared, and no one knows what’s happening right now, or what’s happening in the future. But tomorrow the games start again and whatever happens there is one thing we can always count on–”

Now the old Crabs are all smiling a little – clearly this part of the speech they’re all familiar with. 

When Kennedy raises his mug and the team does the same, even the newest Crabs seem to have caught on. 

“When they say play ball, we say –” Kennedy calls. “CLAWS UP!” they respond clinking ceramic together and sloshing coffee and other assorted beverages around dangerously. 

“Soft Shells, Hard Balls!” Parker yells a half a second later. “Wait, I fucked that up, can we go again?” 

So it’s not perfect, but they’ve got a team to work with, and who knows? Maybe that’s enough to start with. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I added 7 chapters just to finish that brunch joke from Chapter 1 - you figured me out.
> 
> But seriously there’s something very cathartic about “Hey everything sucks right now and sometimes admitting that to the people around you is as good as you can do, but it’s still something.” No idea why that’s such a comforting idea right now. Not a clue. 
> 
> Take care of yourselves out there- and hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed realizing that Finn and Bevan would be very good friends and very fun to write. 


End file.
